The Boy With The Vacant Heart
by RandomKiwi
Summary: Near knows life is just a giant puzzle. If you can't solve it, you're just a loser.


**AN: Hey, guys. I know I've been not the least but productive for a while... Well, this is one of the reasons why! I've been working on some new fics! Pardon any errors or false facts, et cetera, et cetera. I wrote this on the fly during a study hall. Please review! They're what keep me going! I'd like to know your opinion on whether I should continue this or just make it a one-shot. There might be parts where Near might seem slightly OOC. Don't be phased by it. I intended it to seem that way. This is in no way intended to be 100% canon. Thanks! R&R please! **

**~ RandomKiwi**

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><p>For Near, life was nothing more than a series of challenges, all of which, he decided, he needed to complete. There was not a purpose for his existence, not a penny to his name, but he pressed forward, drowning himself in various challenges. Being the best was all he'd ever known. Number one was a mockery… Though he was always meant to be number one… Or so he'd been told.<p>

But Near had seen so much potential in everyone he met, especially a certain blond, leather clad fellow. Ah yes, potential seeped through the skin of this unique individual. _Succeed me, _he'd think kindly. _Surpass me. Show me that you can. I know you have the ability to._ But the older boy never beat him; he never came close in comparison.

Near thought that life was a puzzle – you had to construct new pieces to make it complete. The only way to make new ones was to obtain knowledge, putting it together piece by piece until it made a perfect fit.

He could always solve puzzles. He found pure amusement through doing so. It was the only way he could find competition besides the easily beat children of Wammy's House. His favorite, however, was one so complex that he spent weeks trying to solve it, depriving himself of food, water, and sleep to finish his task, as if his life depended on it.

This cardboard jigsaw puzzle, made up of a whopping army of six thousand pieces was what opened a young 7 year old Near's eyes to what he would then take up as his life's motto.

Every day he'd work on the puzzle, losing sleep as he glanced over at the sheep's mocking eyes, black orbs in a sea of white. They were unsanitary. They were putrid. He would twirl a curl of grey-white hair with his pointer finger and thumb, engaging in a stare-off with the inanimate picture.

_I am superior. You will never trounce me. _

He narrowed his eyes at the pieces still sprawled and strewn all over his bright white desk, messy, but somehow in a strict sense of organization and order. But the puzzle _wanted_ to be beaten, to be thrown into the pile of expired challenges he'd already overcome…

Near longed for a feeling other than victory; he longed to learn how to cope with the bitter taste of defeat. Many of the children at Wammy's had taught themselves to put up with the astringent flavor of disappointment and dissatisfaction, it seemed, all except Near. He felt as though he was an outsider, not having knowledge or motivation to do better. For he was the best of the best! Surely more effort wouldn't make it any harder for other students to reach his level of expertise.

But as much as Near longed for the feeling of loss, he also despised the thought of it. The hollow feeling he possesses as he thinks about the disturbance it would cause within himself makes him shudder in disgust. No, he couldn't afford the apprehension associated with the risk of losing. Besides, it is a highly illogical thing to have a hunger for defeat. The closest he's ever gotten to losing is when he once slept in late and forgot one answer to an advanced calculus problem. Luckily, Mello had arrived late and had received a 96 on the test, leaving near a three point advantage with a 99. He practically had a 100 on it anyway, there was no way anyone could have gotten a higher score, seeing as Mello, Matt, and Near were the only ones taking the class at the time. Despite Near's desire for his number one spot to be disproven, it never happened.

You see, Near was not one to take anything lightly. A simple error as he took notes in his boxy, neat handwriting caused him to go into a cataclysmic torrent. If the tail on his 'g' was too wavy or the letters were not precisely slanted at an exact angle of 65-75 degrees to the right, he would get out a new white paper and start again; this time writing twice as slow to make sure his lettering was nothing but perfect.

Everything around Near just had to be perfect. He surrounded himself with purity, with a plethora of perfection and infallibility. For if one atom of imperfection penetrated his wall of flawlessness it could kill the fragile boy who lingered just underneath the surface of his emotionless exterior.

Emotions were a burden. Mello was living proof. They got in the way of him becoming as successful as Near had; as successful as he possibly could have been. Near had given up sentiment long ago, vowing to never let a flicker of it show itself on his exterior, no matter how much effort it took.

Feelings hinder one from proceeding forth with his duties. Near's duty was to solve the many enigmas that presented themselves to him. His life could be summed up by just ten simple words.

_If you can't solve the puzzle, you're just a loser._


End file.
